


Abby & Erin: A Concerto of Paranormal Investigations (featuring yams)

by idinathoreau



Series: My Childhood Would Have Been SOOO Different With You In It [2]
Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Erin & Abby friendship, F/F, F/M, basically just a lot of flirting and these idiots need to get a clue, ghost chasing, platonic otherwise, pre-Holtzbert, pre-movie relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-08-31 20:13:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8591986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idinathoreau/pseuds/idinathoreau
Summary: What are best friends for if not for telling others about your most embarrassing moments in explicit detail? Erin and Abby tell the story of the first ghost they chased and how it changed their lives.





	1. Step 1: Plan for the future

After Patty’s story and a few more drinks courtesy of the six-pack that Holtz had somehow materialized from god-knows where (Erin was convinced the engineer had stashes of food stuffs everywhere but the kitchen), all of the girls were feeling a little more flushed and loose. 

Erin in particular looked very loose, but maybe that was just because she was naturally the tensest of the group. Then again, she’d just gotten what was basically a head massage from Holtzmann and three out of the four people at the table were incredibly aware of just what impact such proximity to the engineer had on the physicist. 

Holtzmann had done a number on her hair, creating sloppy rows that crisscrossed Erin’s head in an indiscernible pattern. Satisfied with her work, the engineer leaned back in her chair, tilting two of the legs off the ground.

“So what about you two?” Holtz asked, addressing Abby and Erin. She threw an arm across Erin’s shoulders. “Got any surprisingly bad-ass childhood stories to share?” Erin blushed a dark red, playing with the lip of her beer bottle with a spaced-out smile on her face.

“Yeah!” Patty said, plucking another beer from the pack. “Y’all actually knew each other! I bet you have some great stories!”

Abby glanced side-long at Erin, a smile slowly spreading barracuda-like across her features. Erin’s face went from a blissfully buzzed to terrified in about half a second. Abby chuckled menacingly. 

“Oh I have a great one.” She said, sitting forward in her chair. “Erin, you can back me up on this…the ghost of old-man Tucker!”

Erin groaned and hid her face in her hands. “Noooooo Abby….you promised we’d never speak of that again!”

“Come on, given the nature of this group, it’s destined to be a classic!”

“A classic?” Patty asked. “Was this the first ghost y’all saw?”

“In a way…” Abby replied. “It was the first ghost we tried to convince people we’d seen. As you can imagine, it didn’t go so well…”

“No kidding…” Erin muttered, staring darkly at the floor. 

Abby nudged her. “Come on, Erin! We can laugh about it now!”

“Sure you can…”

“It’ll be funny and heartwarming.” Abby promised. “Come on, just like our old presentation! Patty and Holtz will love it!” Holtzmann poked her in the side playfully, making the physicist squirm.

Erin looked over at Abby, grimacing. “But…” She lowered her voice to a whisper, as if it would prevent the other two from hearing, “the Yam Incident!”

Holtz perked up, the legs of her chair crashing back to the floor as she practically lay on the table to try to catch Erin’s eye. “Oh now I’m intrigued; what is this infamous Yam Incident?”

Blushing even darker than when Holtz had been poking her, Erin beseeched Abby silently with her eyes to drop it. 

Abby was having none of that. “Come on, Erin! It’ll be better if we tell them now so I don’t have to get the scrapbook…”

“There’s a manual?” Holtz asked, her eyes widening like a chinchilla about to be snuggled.

Erin pouted for a moment then relented under the gaze of her teammates. “Fine.” She glared at Abby. “But you have to tell the part about the…yams.”

Abby’s grin was of the shit-eating variety. “With pleasure. Care to start us off?”

Erin sat up in her chair, straightening out the MIT sweater she was wearing (that she had totally not borrowed from Holtzmann. Again.). 

The engineer leaned close again, staring up at Erin with huge bedroom eyes, clearly expecting the most interesting story she’d ever heard. Erin avoided her gaze and thought back.

“Well…I guess it all began the autumn that Abby transferred to my high school… our town has this huge harvest festival…well, wait…” She frowned, trying to sort out her thoughts. “If you want the whole story, it goes all the way back to the talk Abby and I had with our high school guidance counselor…”

*** 

Contrary to her parent’s belief, 15-year-old Erin Gilbert actually enjoyed her time in the school orchestra. Even though no one talked to her there either, when she was just playing her clarinet, no one could call her names or laugh at her. Well, they could but it was easier to ignore them.

She focused on the sheet music in front of her, effortlessly jumping from the low E to the high D in the arrangement of Vivaldi’s “Autumn” they were rehearsing. As one of only three clarinets in the sea of students, Erin fought hard to make sure her part was flawless.

Just as the orchestra finished a section of the piece, their director, Mr. Vargas cut them off unexpectedly. “Hold on everyone, take a look at measures 16-40; brass, make sure you are breathing correctly in there!” He waved someone in from the band room door. 

A scrawny freshman darted in, handed a blue note to Vargas then darted back out as quickly as he had come.

Erin was engrossed in her music, marking her breaths carefully in the sheet music when Vargas suddenly called her name. “Ms. Erin Gilbert,” Vargas said with his typical flourish, waving the note in her direction. “Mr. Brunelli would like to see you after class.”

Erin stood up, her legs shaking as she placed her clarinet on her chair and slowly walked to the front of the orchestra. Vargas handed her the slip of paper without ceremony and ushered her back to her seat. Clutching the square piece of blue paper, Erin picked her way through the strings towards the winds section. She heard one of the violinists mutter “does Ghost Girl need more therapy?” And a few snickers from those seated around the perpetrator. Her fists clenched, the paper crumpling instantly but before she could decide whether or not to respond, Vargas was calling the band to attention and she needed to rush back to her seat. 

The rest of rehearsal was a blur. Her fingers flew over the keys, she breathed in all the proper places reflexively. But her mind was on this meeting. What could he want?

She took her time packing up her clarinet after rehearsal, making sure to swab every section carefully to clean out her spit and grease all of her corks to perfection. Only when the final bell rang did she leave the band room and make her way down the hall to the guidance offices.

Her stomach still burned with fury at the old nickname. Ghost Girl. It had been six years since that had first come up, hadn’t they found something else to obsess over yet? Apparently in semi-rural Battle Creek, Michigan, the answer was no. 

She knocked on her guidance counselor’s door and waited for the inevitable call of “come in!”

Mr. Brunelli’s office was sparsely furnished, decorated only with a few pieces of Japanese art he had brought back from his vacations and his many diplomas from Harvard, Cornell, and the University of Tokyo. The man himself was somewhat doughy but he managed his bulk very well, dressing in only the finest of slacks and sweater vests, with square-rimmed glasses resting comfortably just below the bridge of his nose. His skills were of the mind and he cultivated them endlessly; from overseeing the school debate club, to monitoring the chess club, to teaching rudimentary Japanese to the six students interested at a local community college.

He was a very smart and insightful man and Erin always appreciated his advice. But he’d never called her into his office before. Usually she set up appointments when she needed advice on classes and such.

She pushed open the door and was startled to see a familiar face already in the room.

“Abby?” Her newest (and only) friend was seated opposite her guidance counselor. 

“Erin!’ Abby looked pleased but equally as confused to see her. They usually met for lunch right about now, right after Erin’s orchestra rehearsal and Abby’s photography class. Abby’s camera bag was right next to her chair along with the battered copy of Ghost Folklore that they had pooled their money to buy a month ago and carried around ever since.

“I’m sorry to make you girls miss your lunch period…” Mr. Brunelli said, gesturing for Erin to close the door and take a seat. “I just wanted to speak with the both of you about something.”

Erin and Abby exchanged looks. Even though they’d only known each other for three months, Erin had never felt closer to another person in her life than she did to Abby. Abby believed her when she said she had seen Mrs. Ericksson’s ghost. Abby defended her against the Name.

“Did we do something wrong?” Erin asked timidly, sliding into the chair next to Abby. “Are we in trouble?”

“Hey, in my defense, Jason Applbe did egg me on.” Abby said quickly. “It’s not my fault he can’t catch worth a damn.”

“Language, Ms. Yates.” Mr. Brunelli said, sounding slightly exasperated. “And no, Ms. Gilbert, you are not in trouble.”

Erin visibly relaxed, a fact that did not escape both Abby and the guidance counselor’s attention.

“You okay Erin?” Abby asked, leaning over and bumping her shoulder with her own. “Did someone whip out the Name again?”

Erin nodded curtly. “Yeah.”

“Did you tell them about the ghost of Old Man Tucker? That’s a local legend, it has to be based in fact!”

“No…I didn’t because every time I do, they just make faces at me like I’m crazy.”

“Show ‘um the book next time, that’ll shut them up!”

“Girls.” Mr. Brunelli said gently, reminding them that he was still there. “This is why I wanted to talk to both of you.”

They were quiet, not quite understanding.

Mr. Brunelli took a deep breath, looking slightly uncomfortable but resigned all the same. He had spoken to both of them before after incidents of ‘the Name’ leading to conflicts. Usually he’d only speak to Erin but Abby had informed her that he’d asked her about it too once he’d learned of their friendship. “It has come to my attention, in fact, to many of your teachers’ attention, that the two of you spend a lot of time together talking about ghosts, telling ghost stories, discussing the merits of a specter versus a spirit...”

“Specters seem more malevolent.” Abby interjected. “Shouldn’t we give these ghosts the benefit of the doubt as to their intentions?”

Erin nodded in agreement. “I bet most of them are just really lonely.”

Mr. Brunelli sighed heavily. “This is exactly my point, girls, you are nearing the end of your high school careers, the wide world of college, employment and opportunity are opening up before you. Have either of you thought about what you would want to do after you graduate?”

Erin shot a glance at Abby. For a moment, no one said anything.

“I thought so.” Mr. Brunelli folded his hands on his desk, peering at them over his spectacles. “Girls, my job is to prepare you for life after school, whatever it may be. So tell me, what are you girls interested in doing with your lives?”

“I want to study the paranormal.” Abby said with complete conviction. Erin nodded but whether in assent or just acknowledgement, she couldn’t say. She didn’t have Abby’s single-minded focus on the future. 

“How?” Mr. Brunelli inquired. 

Abby opened her mouth but then seemed to hit a mental wall. She closed her mouth abruptly, looking chastened. 

He smiled. “College wont be easy if you don’t have a goal in mind.” He informed them. 

Erin shuffled her feet, the familiar knot of panic twisting in her stomach. She’d thought about college, sure. But actually planning for it? That was terrifying.

Mr. Brunelli leaned back in his chair and pointed at the multiple degrees hanging above his head: three bachelors, one masters, and two doctorates. “You see those? Those are the result of decades of work. I triple-majored in college because I didn’t want to do just one thing. Then I completed two doctorates out of pure academic stubbornness. Did I always know what I wanted to do? No. But I worked hard and eventually something stood out.”

He folded his hands and rested his chin on them. “Now, I understand both of you are currently excelling in senior-level physics.” 

The girls exchanged glances. They were the best students in the class. Erin would even admit that she had read the textbook cover-to-cover within a month of beginning the class. Physics fascinated her. And for once, it was a subject she seemed to have a natural aptitude for. 

“Mr. Kelling speaks very highly of the pair of you.” Mr. Brunelli continued. “Perfect exam scores, impeccable understanding of course materials, flawless equations…” He leaned forward with a twinkle in his eyes. “And he was actually very forgiving about the Rube Goldberg machine you two turned in.”

Erin and Abby both blushed. 

“With that kind of promise, you both could provide major advancements to modern physics, not just as women, but as talented individuals.” Mr. Brunelli continued, leaning back in his chair. “The University of Michigan has a fantastic physics program, I can give you both more information next time we meet.” 

Erin could hear the put down behind the glowing words. They were similar words that her therapists and her father had been saying to her for the past four years. It was a misdirection, the worst kind of denial an adult could give. 

“So…” She began softly, trying not to let her voice shake. “…you’re saying that we should give up this ghost stuff. That we’re wrong and we should do something else. Something more useful.”

To her surprise, Mr. Brunelli didn’t smirk knowingly like everyone else did when they adamantly informed the girls that ghosts were not real. His smile was genuine and just a bit sad. “No, Ms. Gilbert. I’m not saying if you’re right or wrong. I’m saying that if you’re going to say things like that, you need proof.”

Abby looked up, clearly just as intrigued as Erin was that he wasn’t denouncing them outright. 

“I am not going to sit here and pretend I know everything about the universe.” The counselor continued. “Comparatively, I’d say humans on a whole know very little. And to know more, we need more people like you two, people who aren’t going to just accept what others say is the truth and move on with their lives. If humanity is ever going to answer the question: do ghosts exist?...”

“They do…” Abby muttered under her breath.

“…it will be because you or someone like you proves it to be true.” The counselor continued, ignoring Abby’s remark. “But you have to think carefully. Just going around claiming you’re right isn’t going to convince anyone. You need proof, you need evidence, scientific studies with sound variables, and hard work.” He smiled at Abby. “And unfortunately, I know of no reputable institution that has a ‘Paranormal Studies’ department.”

Abby bit her lip and looked down. But their counselor met her gaze and held it, his expression full of gentle encouragement.

“If you choose to pursue this,” he said to them “you’ll need to forge your own path using what is available to discover the unknown. And there is nothing more useful in the world than that.” He pulled out two identical books from behind his desk and handed one to each of them. Erin looked at hers: Advanced Theoretical Physics, 2nd Edition. It was brand new.

The counselor gave them one last look. “Think about it girls…”

Mr. Brunelli sat back in his chair and spun to face his wall of diplomas. They took that as their cue to leave.


	2. Step 2: Accumulate scientific proof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Young Erin and Abby make a promise to each other and begin the hunt for their first ghost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m totally bullsh*tting all the physics here. I have no idea how physics relates to the paranormal.

A week after their meeting with Mr. Brunelli, both Erin and Abby had read their new physics textbooks cover to cover. Twice. 

As always, Abby was bristling with ideas. 

“This is incredible!” She exclaimed, practically hopping around Erin’s bedroom. Erin nodded in agreement, engrossed in the description of string theory she was reading from her now very dog-eared copy of the textbook. 

“I had no idea there were equations and theories like this that account for alternate dimensions and such!” Abby babbled, scribbling another choice equation they had pulled from the book onto Erin’s vanity mirror using a green sharpie. They were quickly running out of surface. Erin didn’t mind at all, she’d much rather look at those equations that her own reflection most days. 

“There’s just so much out there!” Abby finally exclaimed. She was red in the face by this point.

“Abby, sit down before you pass out!” Erin advised her. 

Abby flopped dramatically down on Erin’s bed, her weight displacing Erin slightly. Erin’s mind immediately jumped to Einstein’s theory of relativity and she smiled blissfully. It was nice to finally have a way to describe the movement and processes she saw around her. It was like learning the language the universe had been screaming at her for a long time. She could think in equations now…and it made the world make so much more sense. 

Abby was still talking a mile a minute. “…and some of this stuff could even relate to the paranormal!” She exclaimed. 

Erin, startled out of her physics-bliss, raised an eyebrow at Abby. “Really? You think?”

Abby nodded. “Come on: quantum physics? How does that not sound like ghosts?”

“Well…” Erin supposed she had a point. It was a little bit of a stretch but if they could find the right evidence to link that… “Yeah…yeah that does make sense.” She sat up, her mind whirling as she connected the dots Abby was laying out. “If you think about it, ghosts are probably made up of energy and light, right? So wouldn’t physics be perfect for their study?”

Abby nodded enthusiastically. 

“And let’s think about thermodynamics…” Erin continued, her mind racing, the equation taking shape before her eyes from the variables scribbled on her mirror. “It’s right there in the first law: energy cannot be created or destroyed…it only changes form!”

“So when someone dies…” Abby picked up Erin’s train of thought, turning back to their scribbled equations. “Assuming that their soul is made of energy…it has to go somewhere! It doesn’t just disappear! It physically cant!”

Now Erin was the one nodding in agreement, her mind racing at the potential discoveries that lay before them.

“Think about it Erin!” Abby urged her, soaking up Erin’s quiet determination. “If we could get proof of a ghost…that could totally put us on tract to study the paranormal! We can use physics to prove their existence!”

When she thought back on this years later, Erin would always remember it as the first moment her life made sense. While working at Columbia, she had always recalled it as the moment she realized that she would dedicate her life to physics, conveniently leaving out the paranormal aspect. When she looked back now, it had even deeper meaning. This was the ‘eureka!’ moment so many described that she had always hoped to experience. This was the moment they had decided to do the impossible.

Fifteen-year old Erin grinned harder than she had in years. “Hell yeah! Let’s do it.”

They made a vow with incense candles and a spit-shake: Erin Gilbert and Abby Yates would study physics together. And using whatever they had at their disposal, they would use it to prove what they had both known for years: ghosts are real.

***

“…a spit-shake really?” Patty sounded disgusted.

Abby took a sip of her beer. “Yeah, it was serious shit back in the early ‘90s…I still hold you to that by the way, Gilbert.”

Erin sat back, looking a little starry-eyed from telling her story. “Alright, that’s all you’re getting out of me.” She folded her arms, a clear indication that she meant business this time and no amount of persuasion would get her to speak more.

Holtz whined adorably. 

“What?” Patty asked. “But I don’t understand, why did y’all refer to this as the ‘yam incident’? I didn’t hear you mention no yams.”

Erin blushed darkly but said nothing.

“That’s because the yam incident happened later.” Abby clarified, smirking. “I’m going to tell that part…but first, did I ever tell you guys what my childhood was like before I met Erin?” 

***

Abigail Yates was a force of nature. At least that was how her father described her. Her mother preferred “rowdy”. 

At age 5, she had successfully figured out not only how to climb to the cookie jar stashed in the top-most shelf but also break into the neighbor’s kitchen via a doggie door to snatch pieces of candy from their drawers.

By age ten, she had rigged up a method for dispensing dog food that closely mirrored the system Doc Brown had used in Back to the Future.

By age 15, she spoke Latin, Spanish, and her own made-up language Abbish (which she claimed was for the sole purpose of attracting and communicating with ghosts). She had also taught herself photography using an ancient flashbulb camera discovered at a tag sale.

She was the kind of child who grabbed a concept and didn’t let it go until the next concept struck her fancy. And always, there was her wild imagination. 

Abby had been an avid reader since she was three, devouring anything from Lord of the Rings to Anne of Green Gables. But her favorite books by far were those containing the most horrid of ghost stories. She would make her father read them to her before bed whenever he had shore leave and it was a source of great entertainment and perplexity to Mr. Yates that his daughter could sleep so easily after some of the stories he read to her.

To say Abby had a fascination with life after death would be a massive understatement. She had an uncontrollable urge to learn about life after death and complete conviction that when she died, she would return as a ghost. 

Of course, as the perpetual new girl at schools across the country, this did not bode well for making solid friendships. 

The Yates knew that moving around would make life hard for their only daughter but it could not be avoided. Mr. Yates was a naval captain and they had to be wherever his port of call was assigned. While Abby enjoyed travelling to so many new places, she hated new schools. 

After six different schools in fifteen years, Mr. Yates finally decided his little girl had had enough moving around and told her they were moving one last time…to Michigan. 

Specifically, Battle Creek: a tiny, uninspiring-looking town that was trying desperately to move beyond its agricultural roots and failing. The only way Abby’s father had convinced her to go was by promising that it would have lots of adventure available. Abby had reluctantly agreed but only if her dad brought her a new Polaroid camera for the ghosts she would be chasing. He agreed.

Battle Creek proved to be just as mundane and lackluster as the last three schools Abby had started in. The teachers were exasperated by her attitude, the students laughed at her for her love of ghosts, and her mother wouldn’t let her explore the decrepit and spooky buildings on the outskirts of town alone to search for ghosts.

What made this town perfect however, was the breath of fresh air that was Erin Gilbert.

Abby didn’t recall who first informed her of the “ghost girl”. But after hearing that name, she knew that she and whoever the “Ghost Girl” was would get along famously. 

She had found Erin to be timid but determined, the perfect complement to her head-strong action and the perfect ear for her multitude of stories. They had bonded instantly, sharing tales they had discovered in books and local folk stories from the various places Abby had lived. Erin soaked Abby’s enthusiasm up like a sponge did water and Abby noticed the shift in her new friend’s mood and behavior daily as a result of their friendship. 

Erin made her feel like she wasn’t crazy and alone. And she knew she did the same for Erin. 

They were inseparable, even with the briefly-lived rumor of homosexual feelings between them that Abby had beaten out of Kenneth Zookerman when he’d made Erin cry. After that, most of the school chose to ignore them and Abby was perfectly happy with that. She only needed Erin.

The other thing Erin was perfect for was proving to her mother that she not only had a friend, but that she wasn’t visiting creepy places alone. Mrs. Yates took an instant liking to Erin, probably because she seemed so level-headed compared to her daughter. 

Mr. Yates only yelled at them to be careful when they took twilight walks down the shores of the town’s creek, seeking out the sites of ancient conflicts that had given the town its name and bloody history. They never found the ghosts they sought there but it was thrilling to go all the same.

By the time they’d been given the physics textbooks by Mr. Brunelli, Abby had been on the verge of convincing Erin that it was time to start sharing their love of the paranormal. She knew it was tough for Erin, what with the 6-year label of “Ghost Girl” weighing her down. But physics seemed to be the perfect motivator for timid Erin Gilbert to finally agree. If they could get solid proof, Erin was willing to speak up.

Which was why Abby was now running towards the mall parking lot at 4am, dressed all in black with her camera swinging from her neck. She was late to meet Erin. 

Her friend (her best friend, Abby realized with a burst of happiness) was standing alone under the only working light in the parking lot. “You’re late!” Erin informed her, her arms crossed and a perfect imitation of her mother’s angry look on her face. She was dressed in her darkest jeans and a thick black turtleneck. Her hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail.

Abby skidded to a halt, panting. “Sorry…my turtleneck was in the dryer. It took me forever to find it!” She doubled checked that her camera was all set, adjusted her glasses, then turned to Erin with a grin.”You ready?”

Erin swallowed hard and nodded. She held up a flashlight. “Let’s go find a ghost.”

Arm in arm, they set of together for the old Battle Creek saw mill.


	3. Step 3: Fail spectacularly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The infamous Yam Incident approacheth...

Although they didn’t know it while picking their way towards the saw mill in the dark, Erin Gilbert and Abby Yates would both remember this day forever. They would remember it for entirely different reasons though.

The moon was a ghostly sliver in the sky but the night was clear and cool, bathing Battle Creek in milky light. The girls entered the woods behind the parking lot, using their flashlights to stay on the vaguely defined path that the local kids used to reach the creek for swimming.

The creek was running low after a dry summer so it was an easy task to cross it on flat stones and continue upstream to the saw mill.

In the days after bloody battles and before the invention of electricity, Battle Creek had been famous for its saw mill. The mountain creek was the perfect spot for timber harvested in the north to pass through and be cut and processed before being shipped east towards Chicago. In its heyday, the mill had been a bustling hub of activity. Today though, it was merely a source of local tall tales. 

The mill was mostly stone, with a rotting wheel stuck in the river that sometimes turned if the river ran high and fast enough. A small, lopsided sign at the entrance declared it private property but no one knew who owned the mill so the sign was universally ignored. 

Erin and Abby paused at the sign, sharing a glance. 

“Last chance to back out.” Abby reminded her. 

Erin shook her head. “No way. Let’s do this.” She took Abby’s hand, turned on her flashlight and marched towards the mill. Abby, hiding an impressed smile, followed after her, clicking on her own flashlight. 

They crossed the threshold, still holding hands and stepped quietly into the entrance. The interior was nearly dark, with no windows to allow light in. In the center rested a giant rusting sawblade linked to an axle of the wheel outside. The rest of the room was a dusty mess of rotting logs, fallen stones and ancient tools. 

Now Abby understood why the cool kids at school often dared each other to spend nights in here. This place was haunting. Perfect for their purposes.

“Okay…I’ve never gone looking for a ghost before…how do we find it?” Erin whispered.

Abby squeezed her hand. “Why are you whispering?” She whispered back.

Erin shrugged. “I don’t know, it seems appropriate.” 

“We need to find some place that might have had significance to Old Man Tucker.” Abby reasoned. “Something that would have had enough meaning to him that he would stick near it after he died. What about the wheelhouse?”

Erin shook her head, then realizing Abby couldn’t see her in the dark, made a soft negative sound. “Nah, he worked the blade, lifting logs onto the rotating saw…”

Abby squeezed Erin’s hand briefly than dropped it, stepping towards the huge saw. “Okay…sawblade.” She snapped a picture, the flash briefly lighting up the room. With a whir, the camera spat out the picture. Abby plucked it from the camera and shook it briefly, then tucked it inside her turtleneck. “Anything else come to mind?”

Erin’s light swung around the room, landing on an old shovel in the back of the room. She shuddered. “Yeah. They say he used to kill people, cut them up with the saw and bury them out back.” 

Abby moved her flashlight under her chin, the light casting eerie shadows on her face. “Ooohohhhh!!!”

Erin was not amused. “Abby, stop that. It isn’t funny. We’re trying to find a ghost here.”

“Right, right.” They went back to searching, lights sweeping the floor. Abby lost track of how long they were in the saw mill, searching every corner for any possible sign of the paranormal. She was starting to wonder if they needed to do more research. Just what kinds of signs did the paranormal leave around anyway?

A clattering sound made Abby jump about a foot in the air and she spun towards it, breathing hard. 

“Abby!” Erin hissed from right in front of her. “what did I say about messing around?”

Abby’s voice stuck in her throat as she tried to answer. “…th…that wasn’t me.”

Erin froze. Slowly, she shined her light in the direction of the sound. The old shovel had fallen over. 

“I…I guess it could have just slipped…” Erin said lamely, her beam of light shaking. “O..or the wind could have knocked it over.”

Both were terrible excuses. Having studied physics, they both knew the laws of motion. Having spent the last hour or so in here, they knew there was no wind.

“Erin?” Abby asked, her voice feeling far too loud in the thick silence of the mill. “I don’t think we’re alone…”

Erin gasped suddenly, sounding like she was biting off a scream. The shovel was lifting into the air, hovering a foot or so above the ground.

At that moment, Erin’s flashlight died. 

“Abbbbyyyy!” 

Abby scrambled for her light, the eagerness and fright in Erin’s voice making her force her own fear down. Something else clattered to the floor noisily in the oppressive darkness. This was it…it had to be…

Abby flicked on her light, cursing when the ancient thing flickered instead of providing a steady beam. She swept the unreliable light around frantically, trying to make out anything.

“Abby! Abby, look!”

She whirled towards Erin’s voice, catching sight of her friend just as her light flickered off entirely. 

Something was glowing in the far corner of the mill, a soft blue haze filling the darkness.

A flash lit up the inside of the mill, Abby’s camera going off as it clattered to the ground in her shock. And in that flash, both of them would later swear they had seen a huge man reaching towards them, a long, rusty, all-too-real saw in his grip.

Terror shot through her. “RUN!” Abby screamed, her voice cracking. She snatched her camera up (how she managed to find it in the dark she’d never know) and scrambled towards Erin, who was standing rooted to the spot, illuminated by the blue light. 

An ominous moaning sound filled the saw mill, making Abby’s blood run cold. She heard the unmistakable squeak of the massive sawblade slowly turning. How had they every thought this was a good idea?

Abby grabbed her friend by the shoulders, shaking her as hard as she could. She wasn’t going to lose her. “ERIN! RUN!” 

That was all the motivation Erin needed. They raced out of the saw mill, pelting towards the woods, their flashlights forgotten in their terror. Erin ran as fast as she could, her long legs giving her an advantage over Abby who had never liked running very much and was carrying her heavy camera. They got split up in the pre-dawn light of the woods but Abby was pretty sure Erin was right in front of her.

Still, every snapping twig and gust of wind had Abby paranoid that the ghost was about to descend upon them. Fear propelled her faster, breath scraping raggedly up and down her throat. After several minutes, she burst out of the trees, skidding to a halt and finding herself standing at the top of the highest hill in Battle Creek just as the sun crested the horizon. Below her, were the Battle Creek fairgrounds. 

Erin had gained quite an advantage on her, she was careening out of control down the hill, her arms pinwheeling frantically as she tried to stop herself. She wasn’t slowing down though and she was rocketing right into the middle of the fairgrounds. 

Abby, perched as she was at the apex of the hill, had the perfect angle not only to predict what was about to happen but also to have the perfect view when it did.

Battle Creek wasn’t a very well-known town but it had one tradition it desperately tried to play up for tourism: yam carving. It wasn’t a popular hobby and unlike ice or wood carving, materials were not usually readily available for the task. But once a year, farmers would haul their most massive yams from their fields and donate the finest ones for the contest. The sculptors would get to work, carving for the duration of the week-long festival in anticipation of the awards ceremony on the last morning of the fair. The majority of the town usually attended the awards, as well as several regional news crews.

This year, the winner was declared to be a massive 4-foot replica of the old saw mill, scooped out of a huge yam provided by the Beakner’s farm. It was a beauty: a solid, perfectly yam-colored yam that had loaned itself well to being shaped into the wheel and wheel-house of the old mill.

But unfortunately, when Erin streaked out of the woods, down the hill, and into the fairgrounds, terrified that she was being chased by the ghost of a serial killer, the winning yam sculpture just happened to be right in her way. 

Ordinarily, yams are rather solid tubers prized for their starch content. Like potatoes, they often require skinning and boiling to reach optimal softness. But the same consistency can be achieved from several days as a sculpture in warm Michigan sun. 

So when Erin collided with the sculpture, it not only fell on her, it pretty much exploded into shapeless hunks of starch. And poor Erin ended up drenched head-to-toe in sticky rotting yam guts…

…in front of the whole town…and a news crew.

When Abby caught up to her a minute or so later, she had to force herself to stop laughing and help her best friend amble away from the equally angered and entertained crowd to hose her off next to the stables. After snapping a few choice Polaroids, of course. 

***

“…and after that, everyone referred to Erin as ‘Yam girl’ for a year before the next year, someone got caught with their dick in a yam and people forgot.” Abby finished triumphantly. “Someone defiling the yams became a bit of a tradition after that.” Erin let her head fall on the table with an audible thud.

Patty had been trying unsuccessfully to stifle her laughter for close to ten minutes now. She patted Erin’s back as the physicist let out a long groan. 

Holtz was grinning manically. “I **need** to see that scrapbook, Erin.” She demanded. 

“Why is it most of the stories about my encounters with ghosts end up with me covered in some kind of slime?” Erin wailed. 

“Just lucky, I guess…?” Holtz offered. “At least yam guts dont get _everywhere_ , right Erin?”

“You’d be surprised…” Erin muttered darkly, pulling the hood of her sweater over her face.

“Oh Erin,” the engineer sighed dramatically. “We all have incidents where we’ve become covered in something we’d rather not be. The trick is to learn to laugh about it.”

Erin sat up, her gaze surprisingly intense as she locked eyes with Holtz. “Okay then. Your turn.” 

Holtzmann swallowed noticeably, her gaze cocky. “What? You want to hear about the time I was drenched in lubricant and had to crawl through a particle accelerator? Because it’s not as interesting as it sounds…”

“No, no.” Erin said, blinking in surprise. “I just meant: your turn.” She clarified, pulling the hood off of her head. “Let’s hear about your childhood.”

Abby nodded enthusiastically. “Come on, Holtzy.” Abby coaxed her. “We all told a story, your turn.”

Holtzmann’s face went blank. She blinked four times without saying anything.

“Holtz?” Patty asked, leaning forward to peer at the engineer. “For what it’s worth, I don’t want to hear about your childhood. You already scare me enough, I don’t need to be knowing what you was like as a teenager.”

“Great.” Holtz said quickly. A little too quickly. “’Cause I got nothing. I had a boring childhood. Totally lacking in explosions. And lube.”

“I doubt that.” Patty said, taking a casual sip of her drink. “Unless you was very different in childhood, I imagine you set something on fire every other day…your parents must’ve bought a lot of fire extinguishers…”

For just a second, Holtz’s face darkened, the expression looking wrong and ugly on the engineer’s face. But just as quickly as it came, she smoothed it over, her eyebrows knitting together in trepidation. She stood up quickly.

“I have something to work on in the lab…” Holtz muttered, avoiding Erin’s questioning gaze. “unless you all want to wake up tomorrow with only one eyebrow…”

She beat a hasty retreat, taking the last beer with her and popping it open against the table on her way out. Holtzmann vanished back down into the lab, her boots clomping on the stairs.

“What’s with her?” Patty asked, turning to Abby. Erin followed Holtz’s retreat, concern lacing her features.

Abby shrugged. “She doesn’t like to talk about herself. She’s never told me about her childhood.”

Erin rounded on Abby. “But this is _Holtzmann_.” Erin insisted. “The woman who spews some unexpected fact about her crazy life whenever the timing is right. Or just out of the blue.”

“Well,” Abby said, glancing after the engineer. “She wont talk about her childhood with me…”

Erin made a decision. “I’m going to talk to her.” Erin stood up but something felt off. She stumbled.

“Whoa there, doctor oblivious…” Patty said, catching the physicist before she took a tumble. “I don’t think you should do anything else tonight…’specially talk to Holtzmann…let’s get you to bed, light-weight.”

Erin protested but gave in to Patty’s gentle coaxing when she stumbled again on the way to the barracks. Patty tucked her into her bed, Erin already half-asleep.

Abby wasn’t far behind the physicist, pausing only to scoop a few of their bottles into the recycling bin in the kitchen before bidding Patty goodnight. 

Patty stifled a yawn and followed Abby towards the barracks. She thought about ducking her head into the lab to see if Holtzmann was ready to talk but the past few hours of drinking had started to catch up to her as well. She stumbled to bed and collapsed on her sheets fully clothed, sleep already claiming her. 

They’d get that story out of Holtzmann…but only if she wanted to tell them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guessed it: Holtzy is next!!! 
> 
> In my headcanon, the girls all live at the firehouse. Because why not? The government is paying for it, it’s closer in case of a bust, it’s a _firehouse_ so there’s bound to be sleeping areas, and it means more slumber-party fun times.


End file.
